


The Magic of a Book

by nerdsarehot75



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, bookshop au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 14:59:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19907617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdsarehot75/pseuds/nerdsarehot75
Summary: A mysterious man who owns a bookshop. What more could you ask for?





	The Magic of a Book

You were back again. You walked through the quiet shelves, the books stacked around you haphazardly. You took a deep breath in, your eyes slipping shut. You could smell the dust, and the ink, and the paper. It surrounded you in a comforting hug. The air was warm against your cold skin, wrapping around you, daring you to step further into the room.

A child shrieked somewhere further in. Your eyes snapped opened and you turned your head, a flush covering over your cheeks. No one had seen your momentary lapse of attention. You turned your eyes to the worn spines on the shelf. You ran your finger along the worn leather. 

“You’ve returned.”

You jumped, stumbling backwards as you tried to face the man at the end of the stack. His hands were thrust deep in his pockets, his head leaning to the side as if you were an interesting science experiment. 

“You have a lovely store.”

You weren’t sure about this man. You’d seen him ringing people up behind the counter, helping people find the book they wanted, shelving new arrivals. You’d been in almost every single day for the last two weeks, stopping on your way home. 

The light had been inviting, a warm glow of an island in a rainstorm sending chills through your body. You’d hurried in, trying to shake the water droplets from your hair. The air had dried the water from your skin as you’d wandered through the stacks. You’d barely noticed, the store taking all your attention. You’d left smiling, already desperate to return the next night.

But the owner… You’d caught glances of him every night. There was something about him, something that raised the hairs on the back of your neck. You could never breath right when your eyes met his and each time your greatest wish was to flee. 

“It was supposed to be my brother’s,” he said, taking a step towards you, “but he never had much interest in books.”

“His loss.”

Your back hit the shelf, the books whispering amongst themselves. He chuckled, barely audible despite the quiet, and took another step towards you. 

“He’s a practical man,” he said, “people like that about him.”

“But he’s not a book,” you said.

“He is not.”

He reached up. You hadn’t realised how close he had gotten but his hand was resting somewhere above your head, his body too close. The scent of pine needles filled your head, pushing out any thoughts that may have survived. His skin was so pale, almost ethereal in the light. 

“I believe this is the book you’re looking for.”

He pressed soft leather into your hand, closing your fingers around the spine. You looked down at the worn red cover, the gold plated edges. It shone in the light.

“I wasn’t looking for a book,” you said, looking up at him.

“Then why are you here?” he asked, a quirk at the corner of his lips. 

You blinked, not sure why you were compelled to come here, night after night. You didn’t know why you would walk between the shelves, reaching out to touch the well worn spines, smiling to yourself with each one. You didn’t know why it felt as if you were surrounded by friends whenever you stepped through the door. 

“If you don’t like it you can return it tomorrow,” he said, “no charge.”

“You trust me?” 

He smiled at you, the first true smile you’d ever seen from him. It changed his face, made it softer, more approachable. You wondered why he didn’t always smile when it made him look like he was made of sunlight.

“You’re in here everyday and you never so much as look at a book wrong,” he said, tapping the cover of the book, “if you choose to steal it then I was wrong about you.”

You looked down at his long fingers on the book, his knuckles resting against the soft leather. He chuckled again and you looked up from under your lashes. The smile had softened, some of his hair falling into his eyes and you had to wonder what was going through his mind.

“I hope you don’t prove me wrong.”

You’d returned the next night, book clutched in hand. You’d spend half the night thumbing through the pages, running your fingers over the faded pencil marks in the margins. Your eyes itched and all you wanted to do was fall into bed but you wanted to see the man with the engaging smile again, wanted to thank him and pay for the book that felt at home in your hands. 

The store felt empty, the air still, everything quiet. You stepped through the shelves, wondering if there was ever an end to the wandering. You couldn’t be sure if you’d ever seen the back of the store, if there even was one. Part of you could believe that the shop continued on forever. 

You’d never noticed how you couldn’t hear the street noises once the door was closed. It felt as if you stepped into another universe, one that existed beside your own. The doorway was a portal, bringing you to somewhere better than where you came from. Every night it hurt to leave.

“You’ve returned again.”

You turned, your hand jumping to your heart. The owner was standing there, his hands in his pockets, his hair falling freely over his shoulder. You gave him a small smile as your heart rate returned to normal. 

“Quiet night?” you asked.

“The sign does say closed,” he replied with a quirk of his eyebrow.

You flushed, having not even noticed. You’d been so desperate to enter the warm glow and comforting atmosphere of the shop to bother looking at the door. You looked down at the book. You held it out to him. 

He stalked towards you, looking down at your offer. His fingers closed over yours, so cold despite the warm air. He pushed your hand back towards you.

“Are you returning the book?” he asked, “did you dislike it?”

“No, it was wonderful, or, I think it is. I haven’t read much of it,” you said, “I came to pay.”

“No money,” he said.

You gaped at him, your hand falling. The book thumped against your thigh, your eyes never leaving his face. He smiled, in that soft way that made you wonder if he was an angel. 

“How can you run a business if you give away the books for nothing?” you asked.

“Not nothing,” he replied.

“Then what?” you asked, “I can give it back.”

“That is not necessary.”

You could count the colours in his eyes, all the shades of green and blue. His eyelashes brushed against his cheek every time he blinked. You could have stared at his face forever.

“The shop being closed is not a coincidence,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” you said, “I’ll leave you to it.”

He grasped your wrist, stopping you from moving past him. He pushed you back against the shelf, his other hand landed beside your head. You could feel your heart in your throat, your breathing shallow. He lent forward, his breath ghosting over your face. The comforting smile was gone. 

“I knew you’d come back tonight.”

You were forcefully reminded of every talk your mother had ever had with you about men luring you into a building they knew better than you without anyone else there. You tried not to think about all the horrible things this man could do to you. You didn’t want to part company with any body part.

“Are you going to murder me?”

He chuckled, stepping away from you. It became easier to breath as he put distance between the two of you. He glanced away and you considered running.

“You may leave if you wish,” he said.

“The book,” you said, holding it out to him again.

“I’ve already said you may keep it.”

He sounded frustrated, like a teacher dealing with a child who refused to listen to instructions. You took a hesitant step back the way you’d came. He made no move to stop you, turning away as if not wanting to watch you leave. You paused.

“What did you want for the book?”

He turned back, a harsh smile on his face. He shoved his hands deep in his pockets, his shoulders hunched. You glanced over your shoulder then back. He was refusing to meet your eye.

“You’ve been in here ever night for weeks,” he said, “I noticed. I had hoped…”

He trailed off, leaving you wondering what he was going on about. You took a step towards him, wondering if you were making a bad decision. His eyes flickered to yours then down to his feet.

“You hoped?”

“I had hoped to take you to dinner.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You licked your lips, not sure what to say to that. You weren’t used to being asked out, especially not by attractive men who happened to own bookshops. His eyes dragged up to your face again.

“You are the most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes on,” he said. 

“How many girls have you done this with?”

He blinked, looking taken aback. You considered leaving again, not wanting to be another in a long line of women seduced with pretty words. He reached out again, his hand stopping before it could make contact with your arm. Your glare hardened.

“No one else,” he said, “no other girl has captured me the way you have.”

You considered him, unsure if you’d be able to tell if he was lying, unsure if it mattered anyway. Even if he’d done this with a hundred other girls no one had gone to this much trouble to get a date with you. 

“Dinner?” you asked.

You saw the hope begin to move over his face. His eyes were so wide as you gave him a hesitant smile. He smiled at you, the soft one you’d already begun to fall in love with. He took one step towards you, then another until he was standing in front of you. You looked up into his face. His eyes were crinkled at the corners, the colour like liquid emeralds. 

“Tonight if you’re amiable,” he said.

He lifted up a hand as if afraid you would run. When you didn’t he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your jaw. You bit down on your lower lip, watching as his eye flicked down to it and then up again. It felt as if electricity was running over your skin.

“I’m not dressed appropriately,” you said.

“You look lovely,” he said, “you always look lovely.”

He threaded his fingers through yours, your skin warming his. You blushed, not used to so many compliments. He drew closer. You could count his eyelashes as he blinked, brushing against the top of his cheeks. You would have swooned if you were in some kind of cheesy Mills and Boon novel.

His lips were soft against yours, his fingers tightening around yours. You melted against him, surprised at your own reaction to him. Your heart was thudding loudly in your ears and every nerve ending felt as if it were on fire. 

“Come,” he said, drawing away from you, “I know a wonderful restaurant I’m sure you’ll love.”

“I’m sure I will.”

He led you from the store, turning the lights off. The warmth rushed out of the building as if its soul had left with the two of you. You spared a last glance for Asgard’s Books over your shoulder. You shivered and he drew you away, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. You trusted him, more than you probably should, but you did. And for now, that was enough.


End file.
